


Making new memories

by tryalittlejoytomorrow



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catching Fire, Hurt/Comfort, Secret Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4219899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryalittlejoytomorrow/pseuds/tryalittlejoytomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t know how to tell him, that she cares about him, that she’s scared of losing him just like she couldn’t bear losing Gale or Prim. She’s no good with words; Peeta’s always been the one pouring his heart out. Neither of them wants him to do so now, though; it’s her turn to say something, to take the first step towards him. “I wish they’d let us have a toasting first,” she murmurs. “I don’t want a big, fancy Capitol wedding. If we have to get married, I want it to be small and feel like home.”</p>
<p>He freezes, the fingers that had been sifting through her dark waves coming to a halt. Katniss hears the tremor in his breathing, and she regrets saying anything. But Peeta recovers quickly, and draws her even closer, bending his head until his mouth is right by her ear. “We could do it,” he whispers. “If that’s really what you want.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making new memories

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.

There’s no hiding, even under the warm, soft blankets of a bed that’s never felt this cold.

She tries not to think of Gale, and how he’ll react when he sees her getting engaged in front of all of Panem; she tries not to think of the implications of it, the wedding, and what will happen once Peeta and she are husband and wife. Katniss tries not to think of anything, so of course her mind is in a whirl, dark thoughts plaguing her.

She tries to get some rest, but every time she closes her eyes, she sees herself in a wedding dress, and then Katniss can’t help it as one visual turns into another; a baby bump, camera crews coming every year to see the precious lovechild of the star-crossed lovers. And then, one day, cameras zooming in as the kid gets reaped, Claudius Templesmith sniffling before announcing that the odds definitely were never in their favor. And then she thinks of Peeta. Sweet, kind, gentle Peeta who never asked for any of this, either. Who may love her, but who doesn’t want this to happen – _not like that_. With him on her mind, Katniss balances her legs off the bed and makes her way out of her room.

She doesn’t bother knocking; Katniss just comes in, and finds Peeta standing in front of the mirror, talking to himself. _Rehearsing_. He turns to her and for a second, their gazes lock – she sees her pain mirroring in those beautiful blue eyes. He looks tired; tired of pretending, tired of being played with. “Is it time already?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Katniss closes the door behind her, leaning against it as she averts her gaze. “No. We still have a couple hours before they doll us up.” She pauses, worrying her lip between her teeth, already regretting her next words before she speaks them. “How’s the proposal going?” she asks.

Peeta scoffs. “Just trying to find the perfect words,” he replies. There’s no anger in his tone; just a heavy amount of sadness that Katniss can’t help but feel guilty about.

She wants to say something – _the right thing_ – but once again the words that come out of her mouth are completely wrong. “It shouldn’t be that hard. You’ve always been good at this.”

He sighs, so heavily that Katniss feels the shiver running down her own body as he exhales. Peeta goes to sit at the end of his bed, and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t want to let them take that from me, you know?” he says in a low voice. She’s not really sure she does. Katniss sits down beside him, not knowing what to do or say; he goes on after a moment. “I hate being a pawn, but how I _feel_ , who I _am_ … They can’t take that. I _won’t_ let them play with me. With you.”

She thinks of what Haymitch said, about how she could do a lot worse than Peeta, and then she remembers that moment in District Eleven when she fully realized it. Right now is just another one of these moments. “It’s not about you, you know,” she murmurs softly. It’s really not. It’s their world that’s at fault, not him. “It’s just – it’s complicated.”

Peeta lowers his hands and sits straight, revealing a small, sad smile on his lips. “That it is,” he echoes.

Katniss covers his hand with hers, twining their fingers together. She thinks of these hands, how warm and gentle they can be against her face as he cups her cheek or brushes some hair from her forehead; how they can make her feel safe as he runs them down her arms, trying to comfort her after a nightmare. Things might be complicated between them, but that’s one thing Katniss cherishes – the _constancy_ he offers her, never wavering, always being there for her. And suddenly, holding Peeta’s hand for the rest of her life, even if it’s for Snow’s sadistic amusement, doesn’t seem as bad as it did an hour ago. “I’m sorry,” she simply offers after a moment.

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” Peeta replies, words from another time echoing in Katniss’ head. Peeta’s wrong, though; there’s so much she should be sorry about, but being sorry won’t really help them at this point. “If anything, I started this,” he adds, shaking his head.

“We’d both be dead if you hadn’t,” Katniss says gently, squeezing his hand and feeling a rush of affection for this boy who, in the span of a few hours, will be her fiancé. Tribute. Friend. Baker. Savior. Lover. Fiancé. _Peeta_. At the end of the day, she’s glad that it’s him she has to do this with.

She wraps her arms around him at the same time he reaches for her, and they stay like that for a long time, just breathing in each other. There’s no word spoken as they fall on the bed, still holding onto each other, eyes locked and breaths mingling as they lie on their side. There’s a hundred apologies in her gaze and on her lips, but Katniss just stares back at him silently, her fingers clenching around the front of his shirt, the feel of his heartbeat almost lulling her into sleep.

Peeta presses his lips to her forehead, dropping a gentle kiss on her skin, and Katniss accepts it for what it is; a gesture of affection, comfort, and love. Something that he gives her unconditionally, no matter how badly she’s hurt him. _That’s_ when she understands what he meant earlier, when he said he didn’t want them to take that from him. His love for her is _his_ ; he doesn’t want to display it in front of the cameras any more than she wants to pretend to be the enamored, ecstatic girl when he finally proposes – but they have to do it, for the sake of their loved ones. Katniss thought that it was harder for her – pretending to be in love when she can’t even figure out how she feels about him – but now she finally sees that it’s just as hard for Peeta; to love her and know that she doesn’t, that she _never_ will, not now that they’re being forced onto each other for as long as they may live.

She doesn’t know how to tell him, that she cares about him, that she’s scared of losing him just like she couldn’t bear losing Gale or Prim. She’s no good with words; Peeta’s always been the one pouring his heart out. Neither of them wants him to do so now, though; it’s her turn to say something, to take the first step towards him. “I wish they’d let us have a toasting first,” she murmurs. “I don’t want a big, fancy Capitol wedding. If we have to get married, I want it to be small and feel like home.”

He freezes, the fingers that had been sifting through her dark waves coming to a halt. Katniss hears the tremor in his breathing, and she regrets saying anything. But Peeta recovers quickly, and draws her even closer, bending his head until his mouth is right by her ear. “We could do it,” he whispers. “If that’s really what you want.”

Is it what she wants? She thinks of Gale and searches her heart, and sure enough there is guilt and ache, but this is _not_ about Gale; it’s about her and Peeta, and their life together. And maybe she doesn’t love him like he does her, but deep down, there’s no denying the growing affection and care and love she has for him – no matter if the ceremony is all for the Capitol, Katniss wants their marriage to be _theirs_. “That’s what I want,” she assures him, her tone firm but gentle.

She entangles one hand from his shirt and reaches for the one resting on her hip, large and strong and warm, and she laces their fingers together. They can go through this, she muses.

 

* * *

 

They’re not even married yet and she’s _already_ the worst wife ever.

She wants to tell him that she’s sorry, that she doesn’t know what’s going on with her, why she always seems to screw it up when things finally seem like they’ve fallen into place – but he doesn’t let her say anything. Peeta just hushes her to bed, taking her place at Gale’s side.

Katniss doesn’t even know why she kissed him. It seemed like the only thing she could do to redeem herself; for not telling him she loved him, for not knowing herself if she did, for not protecting him. Never did she intend for Peeta to get hurt, too, even if the damage is hidden inside, unlike Gale’s torn flesh at his back.

She goes to bed and nightmares plague her for hours. She doesn’t even really try to fight them; she deserves them.

 

* * *

 

He takes her hand as they walk to the Hob, and though it comforts her, Katniss can’t help but feel guilty all over again. She sees the sadness on his features when he found her asleep by Gale’s side in her head all the time, and she wants to apologize, but what for? Breaking his heart? Not knowing what to do with these two boys who mean the world to her? Sorry seems to be the poorest word for all the hurt she’s causing him.

They stop by the bakery before going back to the Victors’ Village. Peeta and his father exchange small talk, and she realizes that she hasn’t let go of his hand.

She doesn’t want to.

 

* * *

 

 

Prim asks if she’ll try on the wedding dresses, and Katniss can’t help but look over to Peeta. She’s certain that he knows why she took off today, what made her lose it, and for the first time since the night of the proposal, Katniss thinks of that conversation they had in his bedroom. She’s had no time to think about it, with the uprising in District Eight and Gale’s whipping, and all of a sudden she wonders if Peeta’s been waiting for her to bring it.

How is she supposed to do that? Simply walk over to him, wrap her arms around his neck and say, _what about this toasting_? She’s no good at this. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut instead of suggesting it, because surely Peeta’s been thinking that it was all just words and that she didn’t mean any of it, now. Just like she didn’t mean any of the things she said in the Games.

No matter what she does, she just keeps hurting him. She’s so, _so_ tired of that.

He scoops her up to carry her upstairs, and she’s almost on the verge of tears when she has to let go. He tucks her in bed and says goodnight and she _can’t_ , won’t let him go – she’s scared and she’s confused but right now, she’s sure of one thing: she doesn’t want him to ever go. It’s selfish, but she’s so exhausted and in pain that she just wants him to stay with her.

So she asks him.

She falls asleep, surrounded by the smell of cinnamon and dill and _Peeta_.

Her last thought is that she’d love to have some bread with raisins and nuts for their toasting.

 

* * *

 

 

Buttercup purrs happily on Prim’s lap, looking utterly _ridiculous_ with a bright yellow ribbon tied around his neck. Katniss makes faces at him as Prim pets him, cooing in a soft voice when he hisses at her sister.

“Don’t be so mean to him,” Prim chides her, scratching the ugly cat behind his ear. “He knows you don’t like him and it makes him sad.”

“Looks happy enough to me,” Katniss chuckles, “With all the food and the petting. He’s the fattest cat in town.”

Katniss laughs and Prim looks indignant, and Peeta can’t help but laugh, too. Prim turns to him, hoping to find an ally in him, and Peeta just gives her a sheepish smile. “I don’t want to get in between you Everdeen girls,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender. Katniss snorts and Prim giggles. “Here, your drawing’s done,” Peeta goes on.

He turns his sketchbook towards them, and Prim beams. “That looks exactly like you, doesn’t it, sweetie?” she coos, holding Buttercup to her chest tightly. Katniss doesn’t think that it’s a compliment. “Thank you, Peeta.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replies smoothly, and then grins. “Unlike Katniss, Buttercup’s been a very patient model.”

Katniss scoffs, rolling her eyes – she can’t help the slight twitching of her lips, though. “He’s only been nice because he knows he’ll get treats after,” she says.

“Well, would you be a more disciplined model if I promised you cheese buns?” Peeta teases. Katniss blushes, and he knows he won this one. His smile just grows wider.

Prim yawns, and Katniss brushes a stray curl behind her ear. “It’s time to go to bed, little duck. You’ve got school tomorrow.” She gives her a hug, Buttercup hissing as he gets squeezed between them.

Prim then goes to Peeta, hesitating just a second before wrapping her arms around his neck. Peeta looks surprised, but pleased, and wraps his arms around her, too. This time, Buttercup doesn’t hiss, but purrs. “Goodnight, Prim,” Peeta says softly. “Goodnight, Buttercup.”

Prim beams and wishes them a good night before taking to the stairs, waving one last time at Katniss and Peeta. Suddenly left alone, silence falls over them. Katniss stares at the glowing fire in the hearth, wriggling her toes to feel its warmth, and she feels Peeta’s gaze on her as he turns a page of his sketchbook and grabs a pencil to draw.

She’s not as terrible a model as he pretends she is. Sure, she feels embarrassed and heat rushes to her cheeks when he starts looking at her that way and grabs a pencil or a brush, but she tries really hard to stay still and let him be. She goes to the woods to be herself completely; Peeta paints to chase the demons away and get a grip on reality. Although she doesn’t exactly know how she feels about it, Katniss cant – and won’t – reprimand him for finding solace in her. Isn’t it what she seeks, every time she runs into those arms?

They’re quiet for a while, the sound of Peeta’s pencil on the paper and the crackle of the embers just a faint murmur in the otherwise silent living-room. But for once it doesn’t feel odd or embarrassing – it feels comfortable. It’s Peeta who finally speaks up. “Where is your mother?” he asks, suddenly realizing that he hasn’t seen Mrs. Everdeen since dinner.

Katniss turns to look at him, and she can’t help but smile as he gestures for her to stay still. “She went to help Hazelle with Posy. She’s still sick. She’ll stay the night.”

Peeta’s eyes suddenly go round. “Maybe I should go, then,” he says, probably remembering how Katniss’ mother had greeted them at the train station, reminding them that she was too young to date.

Katniss grins, and laughs goodheartedly. “We’re engaged, now,” she teases. “I don’t think my mother would be too upset knowing you’re still here.” Her smile drops as she sees Peeta’s sad expression. The same he wore upon seeing her tending to Gale. “She really likes you,” she adds quickly, trying to make up for her unfortunate choice of words.

Peeta gives her a small smile, and Katniss almost asks him then, if he ever thinks back to that night. Now is as good a moment as it’ll ever be, but the words just don’t come out, once again. So she remains quiet, briefly glancing at him when he looks down at his paper. She’s become slightly fixated on his eyelashes over the weeks, watching him paint for hours, this concentrated look on his face making her want to find out all the secrets hidden inside him. For someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, Peeta has so many.

“Done,” he says softly, a moment later. He gets up and comes to sit beside her on the couch, showing her his drawing.

“It’s beautiful,” Katniss whispers. It still feels weird saying that, considering she’s the main protagonist of all his paintings and drawings, but it’s nonetheless the truth. “Can I see the others?” she asks.

Peeta pales, but nods. “Okay,” he says, handing her the book.

Katniss flicks through the pages, and smiles. _A lot_. Sure, there are drawings of her, but Prim is also there; birds, trees, snow falling and covering the ground. She’s skinning a rabbit and then she’s scowling at Haymitch, hands on her hips; Prim is helping him frost a cupcake, or running in her sister’s arms. His talent blooms on the pages, and Katniss feels incredibly proud – it’s silly, really, because his talent is his own, but she just can’t help the way her heart beats a little faster, and how the heat that rushes to her cheeks doesn’t embarrass her, for once – instead, she _welcomes_ it. She turns to him and gives him a smile, soft and genuine. “At least, one of us really has a talent,” she says, the little hint of amusement in her voice drawing a smile out of him.

“I heard you could be the next fashion star,” Peeta teases, giving her shoulder a little bump.

Katniss smiles. It’s ridiculous, how much she smiles around him; weird, how they’ve seemed to be able to forget how much of a danger they’re in for the past few weeks. It almost felt _normal_ , to just hang out and talk as if they were friends – Katniss has to admit that she’s even felt happy, something she didn’t think could ever happen again. She wonders what it will be like once this is all over and she’s fully healed, and Peeta has no reason to spend his days with her anymore.

And then she remembers that they’re engaged, and will spend the rest of their life together.

She keeps flicking the pages until one draws her attention more than the others. She glances at Peeta, but he averts his gaze. It’s another drawing of her, but unlike the others, this one comes directly from his imagination; she’s wearing a crown of flowers and a dress, standing bare feet in the meadow. _Smiling_.

She turns to Peeta, a dozen questions in her eyes, and he brings a hand to the back of his neck, nervously scratching it. “I know that you’ve got all these beautiful dresses Cinna made for you,” he starts, “but…that’s just how I imagine _you_.”

Katniss locks her gaze with his, staring into those beautiful blue eyes that she’s come to know like the back of her hand. In the morning, when he’s still all sleepy, tousled hair and tangled lashes, they’re pale, almost grey – almost Seam. They’re the shade of the sky when he smiles. Dark, like the sea in Four, when he looks at her with that intensity that brings heat all over her. Right now, Peeta looks confused and a little scared of her reaction.

She closes her eyes, pressing them firmly shut, and tries to imagine, even for just a second, that they don’t live in Panem; that there’s no death threat hanging over them, that Peeta’s just a boy who’s in love with her, and that he’s sweet and kind and that it’s enough. Maybe she could even fall in love with him, too, someday, with those eyes and that smile and that laugh that can warm her up like coming home to a good fire after a day in the snow.

In that world, it’s exactly how she’d want her wedding to be. And Peeta knows it – _knows her_.

She feels Peeta’s fingers on her face, just a featherlight touch grazing her cheek, and Katniss opens her eyes. She leans in before she can change her mind, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. It’s a _thank you_ as much as an apology. “It’s beautiful. I’m sure that if you showed it to Cinna, he could make that dress. You just have to tell him what you want.”

“In my head, I see it green,” Peeta replies softly. “So you could just run in the meadow and no one could find you.”

She chuckles. There’s just something about a runaway bride that screams her name. Katniss looks down at the drawing, tracing it with a gentle fingertip. “With orange flowers for the crown,” she murmurs. “There’s a bush in the woods full of them. Bright orange and sunset orange. I’d show you…”

A single tear escapes her eye, and Katniss bites on her lip, hard, to keep others from falling. Peeta draws her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her, running his hands down her back in soothing patterns. “ _Katniss_ …” he starts, unsure of what to say next.

She cries, her face nuzzled in his neck. She’s too tired and broken to think of the satisfaction it must give Snow, to see her fall apart. Surely there must be cameras and bugs all over the house, and he’s not missing a single second of the show; Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, losing her precious spark. Drowning with her own tears.

But Peeta was right, as usual. They can’t give him that – can’t let Snow play with them. So Katniss lifts her head, not afraid anymore of showing her tears and her fear. She looks in Peeta’s eyes, never wavering, and hoping that he gets the message. It takes him a moment, but he does, and then he nods his head before lowering his forehead to hers. “Tomorrow?” he whispers in the minute space between them.

She wants to say, _right now_ , because who knows what can happen tomorrow? But Katniss nods her head, brushing her nose against his. “Tomorrow,” she echoes.

She thinks she should be nervous; it’s one thing to get engaged in front of the entire country because Snow demands it, and an entirely different one to kneel down before the fire and toast some bread because she wants it. Because she wants the tie binding them to be about them. She’s not, though. She takes it as a small victory over Snow, a proof that they’re not just pieces in his Games, and the thought only fills her heart with more strength than she’s ever had.

She doesn’t need to ask Peeta to stay, this time. He just lies down and she follows, curling between the back of the couch and his warm body, weirdly adjusting her injured foot around his leg.

She dreams of birds singing as she runs through the meadow, but for once, she’s not alone.

The thought is as comforting as the arms snugly wrapped around her.

 

* * *

 

 

She feels him stir underneath him, and Katniss tightens her hold, not willing to let this feeling of contentment and happiness go yet. She hears Peeta sigh softly, his warm breath fanning over her face, and she nuzzles deeper in the crook of his neck – maybe if she keeps her eyes closed and stays there all day, the rest of the world will disappear.

“I have to get up,” he says softly, playing with the loose hair escaping her tousled braid. She groans, and he laughs. “Come on up, Katniss.”

She lifts up her head, finally meeting his eyes, and that’s when it hits her – _today is the day he becomes her husband_. It sounds so strange and ridiculous said like that, but it is what it is; Peeta’s destined to become her husband by Snow’s design, but today is the day when she _chooses_ him.

There’s a strange flutter in her belly that she can’t quite explain, and that she hasn’t felt since their time in their cave.

“I want to help you,” she replies quietly, propping herself on her elbows above him. She doesn’t know anything about baking, but when the Capitol throws them a gigantic party and people ask her every year how much in love she is, Katniss wants to remember that day, and everything that happened. Waking up with Peeta. Baking their bread. Toasting it. Looking into his eyes and knowing that it will be okay as long as they stick together. Not the fake memories, not the fake smiles for the cameras.

Peeta smiles and nods, and brings her over a piece of paper and a pen so she can leave a note for her mother and Prim. As Katniss writes it, she thinks that maybe she should take a moment to go and change, find some pretty dress for Peeta, but then it reminds her of the hours spent in the hands of her prep team dolling her up for the audience, and she won’t have that. It’ll be special, no matter what.

“Do you want to walk, or…” Peeta starts, hesitant, almost shy.

She thinks she could, with some help, but for some reason Katniss doesn’t want to. She remembers seeing men carry their brides in their new homes when she was just a child, and she thinks of the feel of Peeta’s arms around her and she wants that. So she just reaches her arms out for him and Peeta scoops her up against his chest, one arm beneath her knees, the other holding her tightly around her back.

Katniss wraps her arms around his neck and looks into his eyes, spotting his uncertainty there. “Hey,” she whispers, “it’s gonna be okay.” As okay as it can be, considering their circumstances.

She gives his cheek a quick kiss, and Peeta walks them over to his house, gently dropping her on the kitchen counter. She doesn’t do anything, but Peeta makes a point of showing her how it’s done, and Katniss thinks that it wouldn’t be _that_ bad, doing that every day for the rest of her life. Maybe boring and a bit repetitive, but as long as it can ensure both their families and friends’ safety, she’ll do it in a heartbeat.

“I was thinking of baking some for Hazelle and the kids,” Peeta says as he kneads the dough. “And, you know, if Rory wants, maybe I could ask him to help me deliver some bread in the Seam.”

Katniss thinks of how Gale would call that charity and refuse, but it’s really not and she knows that Peeta is trying to help those she loves. She thinks of his mother, the witch, and how she’d faint if she heard her son talk about giving out bread to the people in the Seam like that. “That’s a lovely idea,” she tells him, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “When she’s better, I’m sure Posy would love to help you frost the cakes. She always finds them so pretty.”

“I could look after her for a few hours a day,” Peeta replies. “You know, for Hazelle, if she finds more work.” He adds the nuts and the raisins in the dough before putting the loaf in the over. “I just hate knowing they’re struggling so much, and we have all this money…”

She does, too. And she hates that Gale refuses her help and that she has to go behind his back. That Rory signed up for tesserae. That there’s nothing she can do but sit and watch as misery settles even deeper over the people she cares about. But at the same time, Katniss can’t help thinking about one of their names being chosen, and having to mentor them. Any name. Brave, strong little Rory. Her old neighbors in the Seam. Madge. Delly Cartwright, Peeta’s friend. Because it’s their life now. She’s been so worried and sick over the wedding and the rebellion, that she’s never really taken time to think about it.

This year, they’ll sit and watch as kids – _their kids_ – get killed.

This year, and every year from now on, they’ll sit by Haymitch and live his nightmare.

She’s glad, even if the feeling only lasts a second, that she’ll have Peeta to go through this with.

She watches him as Peeta keeps baking, all sorts of treats for Gale’s family. Gale. Peeta. Peeta. Gale. Her mind keeps jumping from one to the other, and Katniss wishes that they didn’t love her, for their own sake. What’s there to love, anyway, she wonders. Just a damaged girl with an affinity for trouble.

The beep of the oven brings her back to reality, and Peeta turns to her, asking the question one last time with his eyes. _Are you sure?_ She tries not to tremble as he takes her in his arms again and lowers her down near the hearth, quickly starting a fire before going back to the kitchen to pick their bread. _This is happening_.

Peeta comes back and kneels down, facing her, looking even more unsure than before. “It’s just that – I’ve never been to a toasting before,” he says, giving her a sheepish smile. “I don’t exactly know what we’re supposed to do.”

“Oh,” Katniss replies. “Oh!” she laughs. “I sang, once, for one of our neighbors who got married, but I don’t… I think you’re just supposed to slice the bread and toast it over the fire and eat it. And that’s it.” She looks up and Peeta’s smiling, and she smiles, too. “I just never thought…you know, of doing it myself. Maybe we should have asked Haymitch.”

He laughs. The kind of laugh that makes her forget about all their troubles, even for just a little while. “Because Haymitch is a toasting expert?” he asks. “I think we can make it what we want it to be, then,” he adds as his laughter dies. “I want to say something.”

That’s what Katniss dreaded. _A real love declaration_. Nothing like the exuberant proposal, but something more sincere, more real. She just never knows what to do when Peeta says something like that; when he so easily talks about his feelings and confesses his love, because she just doesn’t know how she feels, or if what she thinks she feels is her own or Capitol designed.

But he surprises her. Peeta just takes her hand like he’s done a hundred times before, and says, “I promise I’ll always be there for you. And I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

She gives his hand a squeeze, and replies, “Me too.”

They stare at each other hesitantly, not knowing what to do next. She’s the one who leans in; she doesn’t really think about it, she just does it. Katniss presses her lips against his for just a second, and then she pulls back.

Peeta smiles, and then slices the bread, holding it over the fire before feeding it to her.

Katniss thinks, _it all comes back to this_ , in the end. How he gave her hope when he first fed her, and how he’s giving her hope now, that maybe, _just maybe_ , things won’t be as horrible as she expects.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why can’t Peeta be here?” she asks, groaning as her prep team manipulates her like a puppet, covering her face with another layer of powder and glitter, easing her out of and into another beautiful, heavy dress. Maybe this would be easier to deal with if Peeta was there.

“Don’t be silly, honey,” Venia says. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see his bride in her dress before the wedding. You don’t want to bring bad luck over Peeta and you, Katniss.”

Well, of course not.

The odds are already really, _really not_ in their favor.

 

* * *

 

She expected hugs and kisses, words of comfort, but not for Peeta to become her personal trainer. It’s as if he’s forgotten what happened before the announcement of the Quell; gone is the sweet boy with the silver tongue, gone is her _husband_ – he’s ready to die for her and for her to be crowned victor again, and Katniss almost hates him for it.

She thinks of vows she’s heard a long time ago. _Until death do us part_. And she thinks that their marriage will probably be the shortest in history.

She feels bittersweet and sad and weak, and she doesn’t know why.

 

* * *

 

 

He opens his arms and she sees _him_ , the eleven year-old boy who threw her that bread, the young man who promised to always be there for her. So Katniss runs to him, holding onto him tightly before he disappears and goes back to this new Peeta who hardly talks to her except to demand that she run faster.

She knows why he’s doing this. It’s the same thing she’s doing; trying to save him.

But if she’s going to die, she wants to die beside Peeta, not this stranger.

She thinks of how Haymitch held Maysilee’s hand until the end as they settle in bed, Peeta’s strong arms holding her against his chest. Katniss can’t help but regret not being honest with him; she promised him she wouldn’t hide anything from him again, and here she is, plotting with Haymitch to keep him alive at her own expense. Maybe they should just sit down and talk, instead of fighting the same battle, but on different sides. Maybe she should tell him that she wants to save him because he’s so much braver than her, so much better; and maybe she owes it to him to listen to him as he’d say that he wants to save her because he loves her, and can’t imagine not to.

She thinks of the night before, when she ran to her room and hid until dinner, and how Peeta didn’t join her in bed after; how he didn’t come to her rescue, earlier, when she screamed – and she wonders why. Maybe it’s too hard for Peeta to be with her when he’s planning to die for her; maybe he doesn’t want to force her to keep pretending. There’s an infinity of maybes that plague her for a good portion of the night, until Katniss can’t stand it any longer and rouses him awake.

Peeta blinks sleepy eyes, concern washing over his face. “What is it?” he asks, lifting a hand to her face. “Are you okay?”

_No_. No, she’s not. They’re going back to the place of nightmares, and she’s going to lose him, no matter what. So, no, she’s not okay. And she’s tired of being angry and sad and hurt all the time. And she wants _her Peeta_ to fight her when she fences him out, to be there when she yells at him to go away – and she needs him to tell her that he doesn’t regret _it_. Because she feels like he does; like he hasn’t really looked her in the eye ever since they announced the Quell.

She doesn’t know how to say it, so after a moment, Peeta simply draws her back to him, tucking her head under his chin. “It’s gonna be okay, Katniss,” he whispers softly, gently brushing his fingers through her dark waves. He presses a kiss to the crown of her hair, humming some lullaby she doesn’t know until he feels the tension slowly leave her body. “I promise,” he swears.

Katniss knows he’s lying – knows he _can’t_ make that promise – but the sound of his voice and the feel of his arms around her is enough to help her drift off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Peeta and the morphlings paint her into a field of yellow flowers, and she thinks of Peeta’s drawing. Running in the meadow, surrounded by green and orange and yellow and life.

And then he paints a picture of Rue and she’s proud that he’s her husband.

 

* * *

 

 

They stay all day on the roof, and Katniss believes that they could have led a good, happy life, if they’d been given the opportunity.

She imagines them having a picnic in the meadow or maybe even by the lake, Peeta sketching and painting, amazed by the light on the leaves or the peaceful sound of the woods. They could stay there forever, living on berries and sunshine, and only come out every year for the Games…

She wishes she could freeze this moment and live in it forever, too.

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as the door closes behind them, Katniss reaches up, dotting his skin with kisses, wiping away his tears with her lips. She feels like she’s dying inside, imagining their imaginary unborn child growing up, only to be reaped because of its parents’ sins. But it’ll never happen, because she’ll never come back from the arena.

His hands land on her hips, drawing her closer to him, and Katniss can’t hold back the sobs that threaten to drown her as she weeps in his neck, her arms tightly wrapped around him, as if she could disappear into his warm embrace. Peeta moves his hands from her hips to her back, tracing soothing patterns as she cries her heart out.

When her sobs subside, Peeta leads her to the bathroom by the hand, sitting her on the edge of the bathtub. Gently, he brings a damp cloth to her face to wash off the remnants of tears and make-up, and undoes her sophisticated braids, leaving her dark waves to fall around her shoulders. “Here,” he whispers, “now you look perfect.”

Katniss looks up at him, tears still gleaming in his eyes. Was he crying at the thought of losing their child to the Games someday, or because they would never have one? Or because they both knew that only one of them could come home? “You don’t look so bad, either,” she tries to tease, but her breath catches and it comes out as just a whisper.

The ghost of a smile graces Peeta’s lips, and he turns to the mirror to wash his face. Katniss watches him for a moment, thinking of his words on the stage. More than the pregnancy, there’s something else that tugged at her heart. “Did you mean it?” she asks softly.

Peeta freezes for a second before turning to her, leaning against the sink, his fingers tightly clenched around the porcelain. “Yeah,” he nods, locking his eyes with hers – they’re filled with sadness, but also fierce determination. “I know why you wanted to do this, and I wanted you to know what it means to me, too. What _you_ mean to me.”

“Even if you wouldn’t have done it if you’d known about the Quell?” Katniss asks, feeling the sobs catching in her throat again, the tears threatening to fall at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, Katniss, no,” Peeta says quickly, kneeling before her and taking her hands in his. “I don’t regret it. _I don’t_ ,” he assures her, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “But I don’t think that you would have wanted to do it if you had known. But if you had…” He pauses, freeing one of his hands to tilt her chin up so she looks at him. “If you still had wanted to do it, I would have said yes.”

“But you _said_ –“

“I know what I said,” Peeta interrupts her. “I said we probably wouldn’t have done it after we knew about the Quell. Just like we wouldn’t have had a baby if we’d known. That doesn’t mean I regret it.”

Katniss averts her gaze, not wanting Peeta to see the tears prickling at her eyes. “It’s just that – I don’t – I don’t want you to hate me. To think that it was a terrible idea, and it’s my fault, and –“

“And I feel like an idiot for not suggesting it myself,” Peeta says gently. Katniss’ head snaps, and she looks at him, confusion flicking in her grey eyes. “Come on, Katniss,” he chides her softly, giving her chin a little bump. “I was hardly seven that I was already thinking about marrying you. How could I hate you for that?”

“Because it’s my fault if you had to go through all of this,” she whispers, ashamed. “If I hadn’t pulled out those berries…”

Peeta shakes his head. “If you hadn’t, I’d be dead.”

“I could have eaten them,” Katniss insists. “You’d have gone home, and everything would be okay.”

“Yeah,” Peeta says grimly. “Your family would be devastated, and probably starving. Gale would have lost his best friend. I would have lost you… Clearly, that’s a better fate than what we’re facing now.” Katniss lifts her face, indignant, her eyes narrowing upon hearing him say such things, but Peeta just silences any retort by putting a finger over her lips. “You listen. Given the choice any day, I would _still_ choose to be with you right now. Even if it means going back to the arena. Even if it means that Snow probably will have us killed in less than twenty-four hours. I don’t care.”

She wants to say something. Tell him that he shouldn’t talk like that, that she’s only brought him trouble and that he deserves so, _so much more_. More than a girl who can’t love him, more than a girl who doesn’t even know how she feels. But the selfish, terrified part inside of her is glad that he’s there and that he won’t go down without a fight. So she just holds onto him, falling on her knees to the floor, her arms around his neck.

No one is forcing her when she leans in, pressing her lips against his. It’s sweet and salty, tears running down her cheeks and dying on their joined lips, and she thinks that maybe it’s the only way she can properly communicate. The only way she can tell him how she feels.

She’s sorry. She’s scared. She doesn’t know. She’s messed up. If she could erase and rewind and go back in time, she would. Or maybe not. She’s sorry for hurting him. She loves him, even if she doesn’t know how. She’s glad he’ll be there with her until the end.

He pulls back and then helps her on her feet, not pressing her for more. He peels off his jacket, shirt and pants, and she turns to him, presenting him with her back so he can help her with the zipper of her dress. She’s not embarrassed, for once. Why should she be? He’s her husband and he’s seen her at her weakest, and that’s so much scarier than being a little undressed in front of him.

They slip underneath the blankets, Katniss curled up to his side, her hand resting over his heart, Peeta’s arms wrapped around her. She knows she won’t get any sleep tonight, but in case Peeta does, she needs to tell him now. “You’re a great husband, you know,” she whispers.

“I don’t have much competition in that field,” Peeta replies, chuckling quietly.

Katniss smiles. No matter the circumstances, Peeta can always give her hope. As long as he can joke, everything will be alright.

 

* * *

 

 

_Somewhere down the road_

“Fancy meeting you here,” Peeta says, his voice dripping with charm as he kneels down, facing her.

“Haven’t we met before?” Katniss replies, grinning, playing his game.

“I don’t know,” Peeta shrugs, a mischievous gleam sparking in his blue eyes. “I think I remember, but I’m not sure…”

Katniss rolls her eyes, and then grabs him by the collar of his shirt, their bread forgotten as it falls off from his lap. “Well, then, I think it’s time to make new memories.”

It certainly is.

 

* * *

 

_the end_

 


End file.
